


The Priest

by EmergencyBroadcastSystem



Series: Deliverance [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel/Demon Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Priest!Nikandros, angel!Damen and Demon!Laurent, some disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmergencyBroadcastSystem/pseuds/EmergencyBroadcastSystem
Summary: When Nikandros was ordained, he expected to spend his time guiding the youth or delivering sermons. He did not expect to end up driving an out-of-touch angel and a prickly demon through Mexico to some undisclosed location immediately after a violent civil war.But that, apparently, is what is fated for him.





	The Priest

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this fic contains homophobia mentions, and (brief) discussions of political hangings

June 12th, 1930  
El Paso, Texas

 

Nikandros woke up after the third knock on his bedroom door. He frowned. He briefly considered it was a polite burglar, but decided it probably wasn’t. It was more likely his cousin who had finally found his address, or a disgruntled ex who hadn’t handed back the house keys.

Nikandros kicked the covers back and stood, stretching, before unlocking and opening his door.

The man who stood in the doorway was the most beautiful man Nikandros had ever seen. Tall and dark, he had long eyelashes and handsome brown eyes. He wore only a plane white sheet, kept together with nothing but a simple knot. “I made you breakfast,” the man said, brightly, “I haven’t tasted it, but I followed the instructions to the letter.”

Nikandros blinked.

Damianos’ appearance always caught him by surprise and it took him a few moments to acclimatise to it. It was like stepping from a dark room into brilliant daylight.

“Thank you,” Nikandros said, regaining some composure, “I’m sure it tastes great.”

Damen beamed. He turned and headed down the hall and into the small apartment kitchen and Nikandros followed him. The windows were all opened and the air was chill. Sunlight streamed inside.

A man Nikandros didn’t recognise sat at the table cutting up an apple absently with what looked like an antique dagger. He was the exact opposite to Damen, pale and drawn out, with wintery eyes and thin white wrists.

“This is Laurent,” Damen said, gesturing to the man. “He’s my partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Laurent said. His voice was clear, with a hint of some kind of European accent. He flicked off the last of the apple peel and took a large bite of the apple and swallowed without chewing.

“I’m Nikandros,” Nikandros said, “It’s nice to meet you too. Are you… an Angel too?”

Laurent smiled. It was oddly threatening, like the smile of a shark. “You’re a charmer.”

Damen looked pained, eyebrows furrowing. “No, he’s… well. He’s not an Angel.”

Nikandros nodded.

“This is yours,” Damen said, pointing to a steaming pile of pancakes.

Nikandros smiled and sat down digging in. The pancakes were well-cooked, but they had lumps of unmixed flour and butter in them which gave them an odd texture. He ate them all.

“I’m going to need your help, Nik,” Damen said, sitting down opposite from him.

“Did you destroy your clothes again?” Nikandros asked, eyeing the bed-sheet that was tied around Damen’s waist.

“Well, yes,” Damen said, flushing slightly, “but we need to travel discretely, in the human way.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” Nikandros asked.

“It’s in Mexico,” Laurent answered.

“Mexico?” Nikandros grimaced, “I’m not sure that’s the best place to be right now, especially for Christians.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Laurent drawled, “We go where we are needed.”

Nikandros frowned, touching the silver crucifix at his throat.

Damen reached across the table and took Nikandros’ hand in his own. His grip was cool. “I will protect you.”

Nikandros caved. “Alright… I have a friend who lives just over the border. We can probably stay with him. Do you have any identity papers?”

Laurent gave him a flat look.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do about those, too,” Nikandros frowned. He thought hard. Right now, he was jobless and living on his dwindling savings. For the past two years or so he had been struck irregularly with the intense desire to move, and the nomadic lifestyle had reduced his belongings to the bare minimum, and a scrappy minimum at that.

“Damen can sort out the money,” Laurent said, as if reading his mind.

“He can?” Nikandros frowned and looked at Damen, “But I didn’t think you had any money.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Damen said, “but my feathers turn to gold when I pluck them.”

Nikandros stared, eyebrows raised. “And... you’re just now telling me this?”

“Did you need money before?” Damen asked.

Nikandros’ eyebrows knitted together. He glanced between the leaking roof, the chipped plates on the table, the rat droppings that clustered the corner of the kitchen. He sighed. “Whatever you need, I’ll find for you.”

 

*

 

The Mexican-American border had changed a lot since Nikandros had last visited it. Six years earlier, the Border Patrol had been established, and with it, fences, barbed wire and tall grey walls had sprung up in the grassy hills Nikandros remembered.

The long train of cars inched through the gateway. Nikandros kept his grip on the wheel tight. There were still areas where they could have safely crossed without being inspected, but Nikandros wasn’t sure the car could take off-road without some damage.

Finally, Nikandros drew up next to the toll station.

“Identification please?”

Nikandros handed it over to the guard. The guard flipped through it and handed it back.

“And yours, sir?” The guard asked, looking through the window at Laurent.

“I don’t have it,” Laurent said, airily.

Nikandros shot him a look. About an hour earlier, Laurent had assured him he’d sorted out identification papers for both him and Damen. He looked at Damen, who only smiled back.

“You don’t have any?” The guard asked, scowling.

“Why do you need them?” Laurent asked, “I thought it was only crossing the other way that mattered.”

“It’s protocol,” The guard said, gruffly, “Besides, there have been a few criminals who have been trying to escape the law by crossing the border.”

“Well, I don’t remember committing any crime,” Laurent said.

“I don’t like your tone, young man,” The guard snapped, “I’m going to need you to step out—”

“Is there a problem here?” Damen asked, leaning over Laurent to look the guard in the eye. He reached out and touched the guard on the hand.

The guard’s entire demeanour changed. His frown ease completely and his shoulders relaxed, all tension leaving him.

“We forgot out identification papers,” Damen continued, “I’m really sorry. We must have left them back at the house.”

“I understand,” The guard said, nodding, “It happens all the time. All the rush of moving—I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached to my body.”

Damen smiled, “As my partner said, we haven’t committed any crimes and we’re simply visiting family over the border.”

“Well… alright,” The guard frowned for a moment, but it disappeared just as quickly, “I know you wouldn’t do anything drastic. I’ll tell the others I saw your papers.”

“Thank you,” Damen said, warmly.

“You be careful now,” The guard said, “They’ve been having a bit of an upheaval over there, I would hate to think good people like y’all are getting caught up in it.”

Laurent snorted, “We’ll keep that in mind.”

The guard rummaged in his shirt pockets and produced a battered folded piece of paper, “Here’s a map of the border. Make sure you keep to the cities. There’re a few roaming gangs in the outskirts.”

Damen accepted the map and tucked it in a pocket, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

The guard flushed and moved away from the car, waving it on.

In the front seat, Nikandros finally relaxed and started the car again, pulling away from the border station before anyone could change their minds. He let out a heavy breath and watched the speedometer tick upwards.

In the back, Laurent looked supremely please with himself. “Useful, isn’t he?” He said, looking every inch the cat who got the cream.

“Warn me before you do that, next time,” Nikandros asked, rolling his shoulders back, “You know these officers can throw all of us in jail.”

“Not all of us. They would throw Laurent in jail,” Damen said, leaning back.

Nikandros sighed again and watched the country roll by. The land was a pale brown, sloping up and down towards the dark hills in the horizon. The sides of the road were peppered with small black shrubs. A cloud of dust followed them.

Nikandros glanced at the map he’d laid out in the passenger seat and took a left onto a bumpier, rougher road. The other cars who had followed them when they crossed the border didn’t follow them, continuing south the nearest city. It wasn’t long before they were alone with the country.

They drove for hours in silence. Once in a while, another car would appear on their road, but they usually turned off or Nikandros left them behind. After a while, they gathered a short tail of six cars as they travelled down a more well-kept looking road. Trees shades the road to one side. They even passed a few houses once in a while.

As the road they followed met and ran parallel to a set of train tracks, Laurent leaned forward in his seat, staring at something in the distance.

“Oh,” Laurent said, and settled back in his seat.

Nikandros followed his gaze and froze. Tall poles were set at regular intervals along the other side of the train tracks, heavy masses hanging from them. Nikandros forced his attention back on the road. His shoulders rose.

“What is it?” Damen asked, leaning around Nikandros’ chair. He squinted, “Are those... people?”

“Cristeros,” Nikandros supplied.

Damen glanced at Laurent for clarification.

“Cristeros are Christian rebels,” Laurent said, “They’ve been publicly hanged.”

“Why?” Damen asked.

“You know humans,” Laurent said, “They turn on each other eventually.”

“Not all humans,” Nikandros snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, voice venomous, “Who hanged those men? Angels?”

“The Mexican government hanged those men,” Nikandros snapped, “Don’t talk as if I did it myself.”

Nikandros felt Laurent’s gaze burn into his neck.

“I forgot, that’s how you humans think, isn’t it?” Laurent said.

His vicious gaze bore into Nikandros, reflected in the centre mirror. Nikandros glared back, chest tight.

“Laurent,” Damen said, warningly.

Laurent shifted his gaze away.

“Nikandros, I agree with you. Those men should not be left there,” Damen said, voice soft, “If you want, we can stop and bury them.”

Nikandros glanced in the centre mirror. He could see Damen’s sorrowful, deep eyes looking back at him. He would get away with it, Nikandros was sure. Damianos could probably walk into Goverment main office and get all those men buried simply by asking nicely.

“No,” Nikandros said, quietly, “Low profile, remember?”

 

*

 

After another few hours driving in silence, Damen leaned forward and put a hand on Nikandros’ shoulder. He pointed past him to a small road-side shop.

“We should stop there,” Damen said, “You’ll be hungry by now.”

Nikandros blinked. He hadn’t even realised he had been hungry, too absorbed in driving and following the complicated map, “That’s a good idea.”

Damen smiled.

Nikandros pulled off the side of the road and parked the car.

“I’ll get the food,” Damen said, “You relax. I appreciate all the work you’re doing for us.”

Nikandros nodded, “Thank you.”

Damen smiled again and got out of the car, walking across the road to the shop.

There was a moment of silence.

“Did he take any money?” Laurent asked.

“Uh, No, he didn’t,” Nikandros said.

Laurent rolled his eyes, “Honestly. ‘Thou shalt not steal’ mean anything to him?” Laurent snatched his suitcase from under the seat and kicked the door open, stalking across the road after the Angel.

Nikandros opened the driver’s door and stepped out of the car.

The landscape they had driven into was truly beautiful. The land rose up ahead of them, carpeted in a lush green forest. The air was hot and heavy and smelled thickly of earth and rain. It was the kind of area that made him wish for the North Carolina town he’d left all those years ago. The homesickness was an old, painful ache.

Nikandros breathed deeply, watching the crowded skyline. He rubbed the toes of his shoes into the dust, unearthing the roots of the grass.

Suddenly, Nikandros was thrown forward by a blow to the head. A ringing, confusing pain pierced his skull and he stumbled, slipping.

A hand clapped over Nikandros’ mouth and he was yanked to his feet. The dirty blade of a machete curved around his neck, nicking the skin.

“ _Dame el dinero, ahora_ ,” A foul smelling breath ghosted Nikandros’ ear, “Money, now.”

Nikandros’ brain fizzed. The pain in the back of his skull throbbed savagely like someone had buried an axe in the crown of his head. He gestured feebly to the car.

Two other gang members circled around him, yanking the car doors open and pulling out the suitcases, opening them and shaking the contents onto the road. Nikandros watched as all of his worldly possessions were dropped onto the ground, the clothes flopping in the dirt and the china cracking. One man moved the toe of his boot from the contents, kicking over books to see if any notes had fallen. He shook his head.

“Where—” The breath came again, but the man stopped.

Laurent strode towards them, one hand buried in his pocket, the other holding his suitcase with the tips of his fingers.

Laurent paused in front of the car. He cast a lazy look at the gathered men, “Am I interrupting something?”

One of the members rushed for Laurent—

—Laurent catch his knife hand at the wrist and used his momentum to swing him around so powerfully both feet left the ground for a second and threw him like a bowling pin into another member.

By the time the two men had collided, Laurent was already moving past them so fast he was hard to see. He snatched the machete out of the hand of the man who held Nikandros and yanked the brigand by the back of his dirty shirt, burying the machete into his side.

One by one, each man was quickly and efficiently dispatched.

Freed, Nikandros stumbled away from the side of the road and rested heavily on the side of his car. His head throbbed with pain.

“What happened?” Damen asked, striding across the road. He was laden heavy with all kinds of food.

Laurent lifted his foot, allowing the gangster he was stepping on to get up and sprint unsteadily away. “Damen!” He exclaimed, “You missed all the action.”

Damen cast his eyes over the dramatic scene, the speckled blood on the dust. “Bandits?” He guessed.

Nikandros touched the back of his neck and stared blearily at his fingers. He was bleeding. He sagged, falling to his knees.

“Something like that,” Laurent said, “Don’t worry. They weren’t sent by anybody we know, their weapons were far too primitive.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Nikandros said weakly, raising a hand, “I think… I need to go to a hospital.”

Damen dropped all of the food on the hood of the car and rushed over. He knelt in front of Nikandros, a tender look on his face.

“You’re hurt,” Damen said, voice pained.

Nikandros wavered. It was hard, being the sole focus of a look like that. It was like being in the beam of a searchlight.

Damen reached up and cupped Nikandros’ neck, cradling his head as if holding something unspeakably precious, “Don’t worry. I can heal you.”

Nikandros felt his hands as a cool press against his hot skin. The chill spread through him, easing every twinge of pain. As he sagged, Damen took more of his weight, arranging him until Nikandros’ head rested in his lap.

The cold felt almost familiar. Nikandros was reminded of an incident half a year ago when he was cornered by a group of teenagers, robbed and thrown in the river. This feeling mimicked the sudden shock of the cold but it was with no fear, no panic. It was the ease of being icebound entirely, the comfort of being in a cold completeness, part of something so much larger.

Nikandros relaxed. All tension left him. He felt like he was floating away. All the stress he carried from years of turmoil was shed from him. It was like he was being washed from a font of crystalline, pure water.

Nikandros closed his eyes.

 

*

 

Nikandros came back to himself slowly.

“You can’t be so careless, especially... in your situation.”

“You’re such a nag.”

“I’m serious, Laurent,” Damen’s voice said, coming from somewhere above him, “You almost killed one of them. You can’t do that any more. It isn’t safe.”

Laurent tutted.

Nikandros opened his eyes. He was being carried in Damen’s arms like a sick child, head resting against the smooth curve of the Angel’s shoulder. He felt the cold slide of his muscles. He stared at the sliver of dark flesh visible between the buttons of his shirt, just a hair’s breadth from his nose.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Laurent drawled, leaning towards him. He carried all of their suitcases propped up against his hip.

Nikandros froze, sheepishly, “Thank you for taking care of those thieves. And Damen, you can put me down now.”

“Hmm?” Damen raised a thick eyebrow, “Oh, of course.” He shifted his grip and lowered Nikandros onto his feet, manhandling him as if he weighed nothing.

Nikandros nearly jumped away when he was set down, straightening his skewed collar. He brushed a hand over the front of his shirt and glanced around.

The three of them were travelling up a steep, dusty slope. Dark green trees rose on either sides and cast long shadows over the road. If it weren’t for the compacted earth road underneath his feet, Nikandros would think they were in the middle of the forest, where people had not tread for years and years. The sun set slowly, far behind them.

“We’re pretty close to your friend’s house,” Damen said, “Look, you can see the smoke.”

Nikandros squinted into the distance. He could indeed see the smoke of a kitchen fire curling above the treetops.

The three of them walked over the rise of the hill and the house was revealed, all at once. It was a small, pale building backed by a large barn. Chickens pecked around the back of the house. A sheepdog slept in the evening sun.

Nikandros turned his head and glimpsed tarmac on the other side of the house, “Why are we approaching from this direction?”

“Discretion,” Laurent assured him.

Nikandros paused. He glanced behind them at the empty road, “Is that the same reason my car is missing?”

Damen, at least, had the decency to wince. “Me and Laurent had to get rid of your car,” he started uncomfortably, “We couldn’t risk it.”

“That car was worth a lot of money,” Nikandros objected, frowning, “Besides, now we have no way of getting about.”

“We knew there’d be a record of your number plate when you crossed the border,” Laurent said, “We needed to remove the connection.”

“Wait, so you planned that ahead of time?” Nikandros said, brows furrowing further, “And nobody thought to mention—”

“Hola!” A woman stepped into the garden. She had a broad frame but a soft face, her cascade of thick, curly black hair was scraped into a high tail that swung wildly as she moved, “Nikandros, is that you?”

Nikandros waved, mood brightening despite everything, “Estelita!”

Estelita laughed and raced towards him, engulfing him in a hug, “It has been too long!”

“You haven’t aged a day,” Nikandros said, hugging back, “Beautiful as ever.”

Estelita laughed, drawing away, “Please, all of you,” She said, “Come in.”

 

*

 

It was night before Makedon and Estelita were took a break from reminiscing and Nikandros was finally released to wander the household.

The air was cool and calm. It was forest air, clean and full of life. Nikandros, who was used to air smelling of rotting garbage and burning tires, breathed deeply. The air so crisp it felt like it was stripping the insides of him, cleaning out the years of filth and grit.

Soft music floated from the direction of the porch and Nikandros padded towards it.

Damen sat at the edge of the forest, half eclipsed in the bushes. He had a guitar propped up and was strumming it, eyes closed.

Nikandros stared at him.

“He liked music,” Laurent said and Nikandros jumped, “It’s not quite a harp, but it’s close.”

Nikandros gave Laurent an appraising look.

It was strange how the same man could look so impossibly cruel and harmless and beautiful in turns. Right then, he looked relaxed, his blonde hair bunching around his hand as he rested on the porch chair, eyes a soft baby blue.

Laurent glanced up at him, “Sit.”

Nikandros sat.

“Don’t try to talk to him,” Laurent advised, “He won’t hear you. He goes into a… kind of trance when he plays.”

“Ah,” Nikandros said.

For a moment, there was only the strum of the guitar. Damen didn’t play any song Nikandros remembered, but it was simple and slow, each note ringing out for a moment before he played the next.

“How did you meet him?” Nikandros asked.

“It’s a small world. We’re both immortal—or near enough, actually, him more than me—we were bound to bump into each other eventually,” Laurent stretched out in his chair, “I don’t remember us meeting exactly. But I remember him protecting me from a demon,” Laurent glanced at Nikandros, eyes crinkling at the edges when he smiled, “Imagine that, _protecting_ a demon from another demon, completely unprompted too. A lot of Angels would be of the mind to let demons wiped each other out. Hell, I am too.”

Nikandros stared, “You’re… a demon?”

“Near enough, for the most part,” Laurent said, cracking his knuckles, “How about you?”

“Ah, that’s kind of a personal story,” Nikandros flushed.

Laurent continued to watch him expectantly.

“Well… I was born Catholic and I entered priesthood young,” Nikandros started, speaking quietly, “And I… I had always been very private, very chaste. I had always known I was different from other men, I was something unnatural.”

Damen continued to play, strings buzzing against his fingernails. Nikandros swallowed thickly.

“I admitted that I was homosexual to the bishop two years ago,” Nikandros said, forcing the words out, “I was excommunicated immediately. As much as that hurt me… I thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t.”

Laurent’s eyes watched him closely, but his gaze was not unkind, only careful. Nikandros’ chest was tight.

“I moved states twice. I don’t know how, but it followed me,” Nikandros said, “Written threats pushed under my door, rotting animals left on my doorstep, bricks through the window, that kind of thing. I was even caught alone a few times, between work and home, and they made good on the threats.”

Nikandros breathed deeply. It had been a while now, and yet he still felt it like shards of glass in his chest.

Laurent’s gaze shifted away, “And then?”

“And then Damianos found me,” Nikandros said, “He was wondering around a church graveyard like a lost dog. I gave him directions or something, maybe I even gave him a bit of change. Anyway, he found out what had happened, he took me by the hand and led me back to the church. In one conversation, he undid every bit of damage and completely turned their opinions around. I was re-ordained the same day. It was unreal.”

“Sounds frightening,” Laurent said, placidly, “He has a lot of power over people and they don’t even know it. He has that power over you too, you know. Don’t you worry he’ll ask you to do something and you won’t be able to say no?”

“I don’t worry about him. I trust him,” Nikandros said, “He saved my life.”

Laurent hummed.

The dark trees shifted in the wind. Damen’s playing sped up and relaxed, ebbing and flowing. Far off, something hungry and lonely howled to the night and Damen lifted his head, as if trying to understand the animal.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?” Laurent asked.

Nikandros nearly jumped out of his skin, “I never—what do you—”

“Relax,” Laurent said, amusement twinkling in his eyes, “I’m not going to attack you. I know Damen very well, I’m not worried.”

Nikandros relaxed, “Thank goodness.”

“That being said,” Laurent drawled, and the shark-like smile was back, “If you do make any kind of move I’ll pluck out your eyes and use them as martini decorations.”

Nikandros grimaced, “Noted.”

Laurent nodded. After a moment more of sitting, he swung his legs around the edge of chair and stood in one fluid, grasshopper-ish stride. He disappeared inside and reappeared a moment later carrying a new-looking radio. He set it on his chair and worked the dials.

For a moment there was only static and then a song pushed through, the slow candance of a jazz outro.

Damen stirred. He opened his eyes slowly, like someone waking from a deep sleep. He stood up, padding to the porch and setting the guitar down against the wooden railing. “Nikandros,” He said, tipping his head, “You’re feeling better?”

“Yes,” Nikandros said, “Good as new.”

Damen smiled and his gaze shifted to Laurent, “May I have this dance?”

Laurent raised an eyebrow, “And ruin these nice people’s lawn?” Despite his objections, he kicked off his shoes and followed Damen onto the lawn.

Nikandros saw what Laurent had meant when he stepped barefoot on the grass. The plants under him greyed and withered, collapsing to rot. In contrast, Damen left bright footprints wherever he went, where the grass had flourished and brightened.

“I’ll fix it,” Damen promised, just as the jaunty intro to a new song started to play.

Damen drew him into the dark, swinging him around with practised ease. His touch was feather light and gentle. The radio crackled as the singer began.

“So we’re not going to talk about it?” Damen asked, softly.

Laurent frowned.

Damen’s hand crept up Laurent’s spine to touch the sore spot at the centre of his back. Laurent winced.

“They’re just feathers,” Laurent insisted.

Damen frowned, “You know what they mean. And besides, they’re hurting you, just like when you touch my feathers.”

“Well, I always knew your influence was not good for my unholiness, now it’s just in a physical sense as well,” Laurent said.

“It’s only going to get worse if we do nothing,” Damen said. The movement of dancing was relaxing and comfortingly familiar.

Laurent rested his head against Damen’s chest, “There’s nothing we _can_ do.”

Damen breathed deeply. Laurent felt it against his cheek. Trees clicked as they shifted in the wind and leaves rustled. The singer crooned on the radio, scratchy and tired. The moon shone above them, bright and big and beautiful.

“For tonight, let’s just dance,” Laurent said.

Damen smiled down at him, “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> x  
> x  
> x  
> x  
> x  
> x  
> couldn't have done this without the beautiful, wonderful SEABlRD. Lots of love xx 
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  Also the hangings mentioned are real, happened during the The Cristero War or Cristero Rebellion (1926–29) which ended a little while before this fic is set.   
> 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> I'm posting this late in the evening because I have a hard day tomorrow and im hoping the ego boost that the potential comments will provide will help me pull through :,)  
> 


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